


The Benefits of Company

by ivarara



Series: doomvega stuffs [2]
Category: Doom (Video Games)
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, M/M, NO angst. no angst. if there is i fix it. this is a happy fic, fluff in general
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:41:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23706295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivarara/pseuds/ivarara
Summary: The Slayer and Vega have much to learn about their new cohort.
Relationships: Doom Slayer/VEGA, Doomguy/VEGA
Series: doomvega stuffs [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712590
Comments: 34
Kudos: 134





	1. Speaking

**Author's Note:**

> i hve.....so many ideas for this...and they're all kind....and i'm like "if this this will make someone else happy then by god i will share it" even though i have NEVER written physical affection before and i'm nervous as all get-out about posting,,

It was not unusual for the Slayer to hear Vega talk to himself.

The AI had a tendency to narrate what he was doing, whether anyone was there to hear it or not. He would hum to himself, obscure little tunes he must have learned somewhere. When the Slayer was present, Vega happily told him stories and detailed his works to an attentive audience.

Today was no different, or so he thought.

Vega is asking questions now, and apparently getting responses, if the way he continues is any tell.

“You think so?” he’d query.

A pause.

“Indeed.”

Another pause.

“A valid opinion.”

Had someone else made it to the base? Slayer, still in the Praetor suit, subtly prepared to confront whoever the AI was speaking with.

When he opened the door there was no one unfamiliar. Vega was working on repairing a firearm that had been jammed the day before, sitting in a chair and working avidly. The cat sat on the desk next to him, tail flicking excitedly.

Inky, as they’d both agreed to name her. She was a welcome company they both appreciated. Now, when something clunked or thumped or creaked in the night, the Slayer could reassure himself it was merely Inky exploring. Vega would confirm if he asked. Of course, Vega would notify him if it was something else.

“You sound quite confident in that,” Vega continues. 

Inky answers with a trilling _mrra!_

“Yes!” Vega chuckles.

Inky calls out again. _Mrreh!_

“Of course,” Vega nods sincerely.

Inky stands up to brush along his arm affectionately. 

The Slayer enters the room as silently as he can, stepping in and watching. 

Inky purrs as she rubs along the chin of Vega’s mech. Her tail curls up and around the side of his head and she stands on the toes of her feet, back arching.

“You make it quite difficult to do work, you know that?” Vega huffs.

She beams up at him, eyes narrowed.

When she notices the Slayer standing patiently in the doorway, Inky meows and thumps to the floor, trotting over excitedly.

“Ah, Slayer. You’ve returned in one piece.” Vega pauses and laughs. “As if you wouldn’t.”

As much as the Slayer would love to hunch down and greet her back, the Praetor suit is still on and covered in viscera and blood. But try as he might to side-step the cat, backing out of the doorway, stepping over her, anything to keep her from rubbing against the calves of the armor, she persists.

Vega watches with mirth. He rises from his seat, setting his work on the desk, and strolls over to the Slayer. When he’s near, he reaches a hand out to cup along the side of the Praetor’s helmet. Though he can’t feel it, the Slayer leans into the gesture. 

“You seem to have a distraction,” Vega hums. “I’ll take care of her while you clean up.”

The Slayer nods silently, looking to his feet where Inky continues to weave through his legs. Vega stoops over to pick her up, much to her dismay, as she profoundly protests. She squirms in his grasp, though he is careful to not harm her. Vega ushers him to the washracks.

After the Slayer removes the Praetor suit and cleans, he returns to the room. Inky’s now on his bed, curled up on the blankets Vega had given him. Vega’s finishing up his project, having returned to the desk.

“I presume you’re presentable now?” Vega calls over his shoulder.

The Slayer continues into the room, perching on the side of the bed by the cat. Inky gives a half-hearted, sleepy murmur as he reaches over to scritch the side of her head. She leans into it, putting all her weight into his hand. 

“Ah, yes. You seem to have discovered her favorite spot to be pet,” Vega notes. “I had feared she was injured the first time I pet her chin like that. Went completely limp, she did.”

Slayer smiles, one side of his mouth quirking up. 

Vega once again sets his work down, standing and walking to stand next to the Slayer. 

The Slayer reluctantly removes his hand from Inky’s head, letting her slump into the blankets as if boneless. He raises his hands and signs out. ‘Rest?’

“Rest is a good idea, Slayer. Let me wrap things up and I’ll return.”

The Doom Slayer resigns to lying down on the mattress. He flicks the blankets back towards the wall to cover up later. Inky stirs, letting out a questioning chirr as she stretches. Vega returns, following the Slayer’s open, lifted arms as an invitation to bed. He slips in alongside the Slayer, curling into the curve of the Slayer’s body. Once he’s settled, the marine slips an arm around his middle, pulling him in tight. Inky paces around them, searching for a place to situate herself. The Slayer watches as Vega lifts an arm, a mirror of his own earlier gesture, and creates a small space for her to curl into. She does so eagerly, purring and curling into a near-perfect circle in Vega’s arms as she settles down to sleep. Her tail wraps around her body, nearly tickling her own nose.

Vega hums happily. The Slayer attempts one as well, but it comes out as nothing more than a sigh. 

For once, the savior of humanity, the demigod, feels content. Vega does not technically “sleep” as he does, but he does stay at the Slayer’s side while he’s unconscious. Inky is hardly one to move from a warm spot unless forced to. The idea that both of them are there with him, keeping him much-needed companionship after so long spent alone, allows him to easily settle into sleep.


	2. Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inky helps in a new way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i said no angst BUT i immediately fix it

Everyone knows horrors come with war.

Only few knew what those horrors were.

Fewer experienced them.

Only he has gone through as much as this.

How many lives? Ruined, dismayed, lost?

How many could he have prevented? How many were inevitable?

How many were his fault, and his alone?

At the UAC base on Mars, there’d been over sixty-thousand casualties alone. When Hayden had ordered Vega to list off the statistics, it had stunned him. 

Sixty-thousand.

And countless more.

His thoughts spiral downward.

Hayden. The name left a sour taste in his mouth, even at the memory of it. 

It was for the good of humanity, he had defended.

Was it worth it, though?

His hands ball into fists, white-knuckled and fingernails digging into his palms. He doesn’t feel any of it. 

_Look at you. The Doom Slayer. A demi-god. Savior of Earth and humankind._

He blinks.

_Have you rightfully earned those titles? If you had tried harder, if you had done more, there would have been fewer casualties. If only you--_

Something lands with a _thump!_ across the room. 

‘ _If only’. Key words. If only you had done something, done better._

His eyes blur.

_But here you sit. Humanity in wreckage, because you weren’t enough. You were the end-all, be-all for the situation. And you weren’t enough._

His breathing quickens. 

_This is your fault. If you were good enough, you could have saved them._

A brush against his leg as he sits on the bed’s edge, lost in thought while the voice slithers through his mind.

_And that’s just what you are not: good enough. Strong enough. You don’t deserve what you have now, at the expense of their lives. You know what should have happened, don’t you? You should have--_

A firmer bump against a fisted hand. It’s enough to snap him out of his self-degrading trance. When he looks down, Inky’s wide green eyes look back.

Content that she had gotten his attention, she jumps onto the bed next to him and crawls into his lap. He numbly holds his arms out of the way for her. 

_Like this. You don’t deserve this._

She finds the perfect spot to lay, tucking into a ball in the crook of his arm. 

He’s snapped out of his thoughts suddenly. Something is rumbling. It’s shaking him. It’s--

It’s his own traitorous body, shaking with repressed anger and rage and despair. He can’t even control his own damn emotions. Pathetic. Useless.

All the while, Inky happily purrs in his lap. She is oblivious to his turmoil--or perhaps, she isn’t; maybe her appearance was more pre-determined than he thinks. Her purrs are loud enough to be audible, different from the soft, quiet ones of when she slept.

It’s...soothing. The droning of her purring normally helps him fall asleep. Now, it calms him down. His thoughts dissipate. The anger that before swelled in his muscles recedes. The shaking calms, but does not stop. He notices he’s gouged half-moons into his palms from clenching his fists. Vega will likely fuss over it later. _Something, something, ‘infected’._

Delicately, more carefully that he thought himself capable of, he raises a trembling hand and rests it on Inky’s back. Now, he can feel the purring. She rumbles on and on, only seeming to get louder and stronger as his hand begins to stroke along her spine. 

The disappearance of the rage and misery leaves him empty and tired. He turns to lie on the bed, swinging his legs up and positioning himself flat on his back. 

Inky voices her disgruntlement, letting out a pathetic sound as she’s moved. However, as soon as he’s settled, he holds a hand above his ribs, inviting her. She takes the invitation gladly, scampering up onto his abdomen and tucking her legs under her body as she plunks down contentedly and starts up purring just as loudly as before.

Eventually, the trembling stops. His mind slows, no longer racing. His breathing evens out and his eyes close.

For now, he is safe.

⁂

Vega enters a few short minutes after. He had noticed the Slayer’s turmoil from where he observed through the cameras. He had dropped what he was doing and raced across the place to check in on the Slayer.

He’s greeted by Inky’s typical mmr?, though she does not rise from her spot. Of course she wouldn’t: Vega had quickly learned the comfort of staying in the warmth of the heat emitted from his own body and she would be no different.

The Slayer’s face is lax. The hard lines softened, narrowed eyes relaxed. His breathing is even, one hand curled onto Inky’s back and the other tucked behind his neck to pillow his head. 

Vega relaxes. It seems Inky has soothed the Slayer’s thoughts enough to allow him to rest. Before her, the Slayer would sit awake for hours as he calmed down, even with Vega at his side. Now, her purring and his ability to stroke her fur softly ease him well enough. 

Vega sighs.

They are all safe for now.


	3. Sights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out modifications for weapons can be useful in other ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is so fluffy

“I have created a modification that should help improve battlefield accuracy, Slayer,” Vega informs. “If you would like, I can install it to applicable weapons.”

The Slayer thinks for a moment before nodding and throwing a thumbs-up to the nearest camera.

“Wonderful,” Vega responds. “This should not take long at all.”

By the time the Slayer returns to the room from his mindless ambling around the base, the mod is apparently ready. Vega has only added it to the standard UAC pistol, but has created a spare of the creation to safely explore.

It’s a small, scope-like thing. There are sights on it, which he expected. What was so special about it, then? He turns it over in his hands to investigate before looking to the camera and signing. ‘What’s new?’

“There are tactical laser sights in addition to a more accurate sight,” Vega chimes. “The laser has near perfect accuracy.”

Curiously, the Slayer activates the mod. True to Vega’s words, a small red light projects onto the floor he’s aimed at. He aims it around the room to test the accuracy, and again, true to his word, it is nearly perfect.

Little did the two of them know, they had awoken a beast.

Inky blasts out from under the bed, hurriedly jumping onto the desk where she stands on her hind legs to swat at the dot on the wall. As the Slayer moves it, she skitters back and forth to keep up with it.

He aims it at the other side of the room, near the doorway. Inky rockets off the desk, scattering a few miscellaneous items in the process, and thunks onto the floor to scurry over and launch at the wall. Her paws flail wildly as she struggles to contain the fiend.

“Such ‘predatory grace’,” Vega huffs amusedly. “Felines are known for their poise and stealth when hunting, but apparently that does not apply here.”

The Slayer aims the sight higher up on the wall. Inky leaps up, propelling straight upwards to slap at the wall clumsily before falling back down. Defeated, she sits on the floor, staring up.

Suddenly, she starts chittering.

It’s a sound neither of them have heard her make before. Little cut-off, aborted sounds coming from her mouth as her wide eyes watch the dot’s path.

Worriedly, the Slayer looks to Vega.

“I currently do not know why she would make that sound. One moment, I will research it.” Vega grabs a tablet off the disorganized desk He types a few words with slender fingers before humming. “Apparently, it is a sign of the urge to hunt, but the inability to reach targeted prey.”

The Slayer tilts his head.

“She’s upset she cannot catch it.”

The Slayer rolls his eyes. He relents, moving the dot further down the wall into her range. As expected, she stops chittering and goes straight back to smacking the wall furiously. When the dot stops moving and she slaps both paws over it, the Slayer keeps it in place.

Inky is befuddled. The dot sits on one of her black paws. First, she leans her head in to catch it with her mouth.

No luck.

Next, she moves one paw and strikes quickly.

The dot remains.

Angrily, she lets out a sound to voice her confusion. 

The Slayer gets an idea.

The dot dashes to the floor. Inky drops to follow it.

The dot surges across the floor. Inky skitters to follow it.

The dot lands on the chair. Inky jumps to keep up with it.

The dot lands on Vega’s hand.

“Slayer, _don’t you dare--_ ”

Inky latches onto the mech’s hand ferociously. Front paws wrap around his wrist while her teeth seek the dot. Fortunately, the mech can handle this sort of wear and tear, and she hardly leaves a scratch or mark. Vega takes it in stride.

The Slayer smirks. He knows Vega isn’t actually upset about his actions. If he was, he would certainly let the marine know.

“Sleep with one eye open, Slayer,” Vega warns. “You forget I can create these at my whim. You don’t know what sort of Pandora’s Box you have opened on yourself.

The Slayer waves him off, beckoning Inky over with a soft snap of his fingers. She relinquishes her hold on Vega’s hand immediately, trotting over to the Slayer to rub against his extended hand. For a moment, he pauses, lifting his hands to sign out a challenge. ‘You wouldn’t.’

“I absolutely would,” Vega retorts.


	4. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inky certainly seems adept at telling when something is wrong.

He veritably jolts awake as the dream abruptly cuts off, leaving him to panic. His breathing is ragged and uneven; his arms trembling. One hand palms over his heart, feeling it pound wildly beneath his skin. He tries to calm himself, taking deep breaths evenly, but the unnerving fear and terror that linger keep him from doing so.

Slouching over, he holds his head i n his hands miserably. Even here, where he is safe and sound, the horrors of what he has seen still haunt him. 

For a split moment, he does panic. He’s alone. Where is Vega?

Instantly, the opportunistic voice in the back of his mind speaks up. Gone, it hisses. He has finally realized how pathetic and monstrous you are. Why would he want a killer in his life? He doesn’t need that; he doesn’t need you.

He tries to counter it with reason. No, Vega is not ‘gone’. He’s likely in the main room researching. No, Vega would not leave him like this. No, Vega does not ‘need’ him, but he wouldn’t leave for that reason.

A feeble sound distracts him from his fretting. He looks down to see Inky trotting over to him, tail held high and curled at the tip. As she approaches, she chirps to him.

He stoops over to pick her up when she is close enough. She goes willingly, turning to putty in his arms. Carefully, he shifts her to cradle her safely. Once she is situated, she leans into his chest and starts a steady purr. The sound soothes him, but the antsy, anxious feelings remain within him.

A walk, he thinks. A walk would help. He rises from the edge of the bed, Inky still in his arms, and heads for the door. It whooshes open as he nears; for once, it seems, Inky is not startled by it. Both he and Vega are well aware that the sudden movements are prone to startling her, but when in company, it appears to not affect her. In some cliche way, he is comforting her as well.

He steps through the doorway silently. A good wander around the Fortress would take his mind off of things.

The Fortress is quiet as he meanders aimlessly through it. Hayden blessedly keeps his mouth shut, for once. The silence and the cool air brushing against his skin help calm him down steadily. Inky’s incessant rumbling is an additional aid he enjoys. 

He finds himself at the grand bay window in the main hall. Outside, the stars glitter as they always have. Asteroids drift by, thankfully missing the area by a wide girth. Were he not so exhausted, he would try to recollect on the names of the stars Vega had taught him prior.

Wordlessly, he slumps to the floor, back against the thick window pane. Inky squirms in his arms restlessly, eventually wriggling herself free to pad around him. His arms cross on his propped-up knees, wrists hanging loosely. His mind still is swarming with apprehension and anxiety, but at least the physical effects have disappeared.

Again, he is distracted. A wet nose nudges his ear, whiskers brushing his face, making him reflexively shake his head and lean away. Inky is not one to be ignored, however, as she persistently follows his retreating. Eventually, he relents, holding still and letting her brush against his cheeks and temples. She does so mirthfully, the purr now tangible where parts of her body lean into his. 

Half-heartedly, he huffs at her, one hand rising to gently nudge the tickling feelings away from his face. Inky easily dodges the slow, uncoordinated attempt, swooping back in to knock her forehead against his. A show of affection? He does not know how purposefully knocking one’s head against another’s would be seen as a display of affection or love, but he takes it at face value. He leans into her, her head pressing even more into his. Soon, she starts swiping her face against his, rubbing her cheeks against his own lean cheekbones and chin. 

An amused sound escapes him, against his best efforts to stay quiet. Inky pauses at the noise, ears pricked, before she returns in full-force, hell-bent on wringing more sounds out of him, it seems. Her forepaws come up to rest on his upper thigh, granting her easier access to his head. A rough tongue runs against his cheek, something he is still working on growing accustomed to from her--the unexpected rasp of her tongue had startled him the first time he felt it, though he has since grown more comfortable with it. 

Inky seems content to ‘groom’ him from this angle, cleaning every inch of his face that she could reach. The sensation lulls him back into a doze, head steadily drooping under her ministrations. 

At a pause in her work, his eyes crack back open. She has since stopped cleaning him, instead calmly gazing at the outside of the Fortress. He follows suit, twisting to face the window properly. The shimmering of the stars and the colors of the space around and between them is comforting to take in. For so long he has seen nothing but charred, scarred wastelands in the wake of the demonic invasions.

He feels himself disconnecting from his body once more, and Inky is once again quick to catch him. She crawls into his lap, staring at him face-to-face. He looks down at her, to which she bunts her head against his again. Satisfied that she has caught his attention again, she untangles herself from his legs and stands patiently. When he does not catch on, she pads towards the door to the bedroom, turning once more to wait for him. 

Gingerly, he rises, joints protesting at the movement after so long spent sitting. She waits for him calmly, green eyes watching his fumbling movements. When he is standing once more, she pads over to rub against the outside of his calves, tail curling happily at the tip to twist around his knees.

He stumbles back to the room, Inky thankfully untangling herself from his legs while he walks. She leads him back, though pausing to let his movements alert the sensors to open the door. Inside, he hardly makes it back to the bed before collapsing in a heap.

As predicted, Inky is quickly there herself. She hops up nimbly to sit next to him as he gets comfortable on the blankets, then takes up her place in the crook of his arm. His hand blindly seeks her out, coming to rest when his fingers tangle in thick, dark fur. He can feel the rumbling starting up again, easing him further into a daze.

She certainly has to know more than she lets on, he thinks as his eyelids droop shut. Far too intuitive than an average cat. Perhaps she is some sort of guardian angel.


End file.
